Long Dreamt Poems
Long Dreamt Poems. Below are the most popular long Dreamt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dreamt poems by poem length and keyword.
When this day fell 12 months ago,
I remember swearing on a new blessed oath.
I couldn’t bear the thought of another year alone, another year of solitude where I’m scared of my phone.
I dreamt of my hand being held through the cold
or the mornings by the fire, where warmth never gets old.
I could picture a calendar with a thousand scribbled plans,
I could hear the bustle of the bar and its band.
When the night would end, I’d feel the squeeze of a hand,
as we ventured on home, to our safe promised land.
Then the morning would come, with everyone around
we’d gather by the green, humming dulcet sounds
inspired by the radio, that’s on far too loud.
The paper in our hands would not be a fraction
of our comfort, of our satisfaction.
Because we knew we were there, in this moment we’d share and just like the others, we’d bless every flair.
But now I’m awake, so harsh and so heavy
the months have flown by and it’s Christmas already
I watch all the hopefuls and how they bless this season
yet part of me feels like I don’t have a reason
to feel quite so merry, when my bed sits so empty.
I can’t think of a time where I’ve been let down gently.
I know what will happen this time around,
this is what happens every year, I’ve found.
I’ll sit as one island, I’ll clasp my glass close.
I’ll swallow those memories, brought to me by the ghost
and then the next day when it’s come to an end,
I’ll swear on that oath, again and again.
Still waiting for Jesus to come
I was born to see
From my youth age
I saw this same faces
Same face I see now
It strange how they never change
Even the new ones looks same
Still waiting for Jesus to come
I was born to live
From my childhood
I dreamt of life
I wanted to live
So I chose who I am
I chose not to depend
I chose no limitations to my growth
I thought I was free
Till this dream was a fight
To achieve
In a world full of strange faces
Still waiting for Jesus to come
I was born to free
I chose no chains or captivity
I chose no pain or brutality
I chose no fighting or war
Yet this mad men systems
Won't allow me be
This unchanged faces
Never leave my peace untouched
I wonder why they still exists
Till now
I wonder how long
Will the innocent suffer under them
There is no good man among this faces
And then comes my quest
I wish to see the good man
Again in power
The man for the people
The man of truth
The man to lead not rule
We are waiting cos the faces
Now are corrupt and spoiled of evil
They are full of themselves
They so selfish
They are egoistic
So the waiting of a brighter
Leader still continues
same like am
Still waiting for Jesus to come
A dedication to the known yet unknown
God bless the struggling African youth
God bless the world
God bless Africa
Hope for a new face
If it will one day come in my time .....
Have you ever danced to the rhythm of life
The rise and the fall of your body on the bed
Counting the precise seconds between each breath
The way feet seem to always find a way to move forward
The way you might chase your heart racing away
And smile to yourself through lonely celebrations
Have you ever been born again
As if your eyes had their memory of the sun erased
A new life greeted by the reborn sun coming off the sea
Realizing how profoundly beautiful it all can be
Wondering how it was possible to miss something
That was always there…but also not
Have you ever forgotten love
Knowing where you have been…how far you have fallen
Wondering if anyone would talk to you at 3AM again
And fantasizing how they would much rather stare straight into your eyes
Look at you as if you were only thing left on Earth
Making your hands shake from holding onto them so tightly
Have you ever dreamt about strangers
Somehow still waking up more and more devastated
How it felt losing them felt so real and so fake at the same time
Is there really someone out there waiting to meet a person like me
Desperate enough to crack themselves open like an egg
Allowing their love to bleed out onto the street like yolk
Have you ever lost someone
Forced to let go of something you couldn’t afford to lose
Scared of the way you might drag them down with you
When they were the best thing you ever chanced upon
Wishing that they would have listened through the silence
Of that you could have seen through the smiles
No…
You’re not that ugly
You’re not that stupid
You’re not that invisible
You’re not that unwanted
You’re still unbroken
Have you ever been human
Yes…
You have been and forever will be
Just as I will hide these lines forever in your nightmares
So that each time you face your demons
You might think that someone cared about you
Light raft floating
drifting for a breeze
Sailing aimlessly
Going into nothingness
Yet drifting on a bed of certainty
Am I a harbouring passenger
OR a willing vessel
bobbing hither and tither
with the confidence of the waves
Whether willing or by direction
I steeped the ocean's floor
Whether I was cleaning or just sweeping
I traversed the carpets shore
Where was my comfort to be sought
OR my intimacy to be dreamt
For where have you seen a twig with dreams
OR the blazing glory of a shoot
There's no compass for relief
Only certitude was certainty,
The assured conviction
That truth is fact!
A few days back I visited an old time friend
To travel down the memory lane on a week end
As we spent the quality time over high tea
The evening passed us by on a lively spree
While leaving I inquired about their daughter, Suhash
Her mother said she was busy with paint and brush
Being interested in painting I wanted to see
How much accomplished in this art she might be
I saw the young girl sitting upright a bit tense
Arranged in front were paint tubes in VIBGYOR sequence
The brush in her hand made strokes rather unsurely
I thought because she was in a room lit very poorly
Her mother said to her daughter destiny hadn’t been kind
In her world darkness didn’t matter for she was blind
In color she dreamt her dreams she would paint
Until in darkness they dissolved and became faint
Looking at the girl and her painting I was dumbstruck
Felt sorry life had proffered a young girl such a bad luck.
______________
August 14, 2021
Contest : Dumbstruck
Sponsor : Charles Messina
(“Corpus Callosum”, 2017, original encaustic)
Reverse Osmosis of Life
It’s a two way street
The way reality exists
Divided into truth on one side
And illusion’s delusions the other,
And yet the most fascinating aspect
Is the membrane that exists between the two
A membrane of I don’t know what,
But which I’m sure the ancients had a name for,
Which divides, insulates and yet connects
And filters through cosmic osmosis
The personal and transpersonal,
Or you could say the mortal and immortal.
Sometimes I can feel the membrane at work
Seeing it even just beyond the limits of my mind’s eye
Knowing what it’s doing
As it transpires
Because I am in fact on both sides simultaneously
At least to some degree.
Everything after all is an extension
And expression of Life,
You, me, us,
In whatever forms it finds us
From refined and subtle to coarse and gross.
The other night I dreamt of being a bridge
Not a figurative one, but literally
An object with girders and cross members
Able to span a stream or gully.
It didn’t surprise me, just intrigue me
That the creative nature of the Mind
Is what it is
And in fact, is all there is.
(8/18/25)
Every fear
Here beyond the sandstone crease
Long beneath this fractured fault
I take my bow as tears do cease
Collected in a cardboard vault
Dreamt of moments spent like this
Where the sky does touch the ground
Lost in the horizon’s mist
Following a whispered sound
Walking long of nights and days
Breathing in the feathered air
Changing course in mad display
Seeking but a simple care
When your hand appears the light
Shining down of softened beam
Cast aside and to the right
Read my thoughts of which I dream
Take me from this cautioned place
Show me bright un-faded land
Lead me for I long to trace
Every line upon your hand
As I feel my heart does beat
Now that you have led me strong
With a love I must repeat
Hold me close and hold me long
This may be my dying part
But my life is now fulfilled
You have breathed into my heart
And my every fear is stilled
It's not like a rush of waves
Like I've read in those books
The innocent idyllic lies
Of fountain wishes and
Written dreams and
Patriarchal fantasies
All in illustration
Illusions? Delusions?
All the same
Damsels, dragons, the dammed,
Doesn't feel too far from truth,
Be it written in thousands of pages
before now, in this moment
Knights, nights, party lights
Why wish for saviours when it's now
That my story should start?
Should it? Could it?
Could the masculine energy cope with my defiance
While the moths feast on the dresses
That would sexualise not humanise
The flesh and blood I wear,
It's mine to share
Feeling disconnected from reality
Yet those delusional illustrations
In page after page
Etched in my brain
Make no sense when that glass reflects
The shell and defence I wear
Day in and out
Who am I protecting
I'm only hurting myself
Is it the fantasy of me
The idea I dream for myself
No rainbows to arch over me
Lack of godmothers who turn up
When we want to please a man
To show who we 'really are'
And paint that picture
We dreamt about as children
I am hurting, I have no energy
To paint, to draw, to wait
To dream, to please
I chose me, I have no story
And I hope I disappoint the ideals
That were pathed for many before me
I'll make noise, I'll defy those fictions
That is not me, shan't be me
I chose to be a sparkler
No tiara.
In times encrypted on the membrane of the universe, beneath the cold veil of unknown realities,
Humanity, with eyes welled with tears of questions, will gradually unravel the mystery from symbols.
A thick curtain of incomprehensibility will disperse, like fog on the lakes at sunrise,
And in the embrace of weeping mornings, the truth will shine, once concealed, now serene.
In this vibrant tableau, our conviction will struggle like a silver fish in an unyielding ocean,
Allowing us to understand that, since the creation of the world, the truth has been a wandering star,
Inseparable from hidden destiny, on our inner sky, traversed by nameless ships,
Ever gazing towards the pole of the wise Abstract, where those Lords of the Dawn wander, silent and rare.
They have always been among us, like the wind carrying pollen in the depth of spring,
An order without pomp, caressing weary foreheads and igniting the holy flame in hearts;
Whispering in the language of eternal secrets, watching like guardians hidden in ancestral times,
Destined to find our way back to the lost consciousness, through thicket of dreams and hopes.
They, the few but growing like an old forest of green stars in the night of the soul,
Open the gate to the kingdom where all is known, yet nothing is spoken.
On that day, our hearts will sing symphonies of light, glowing through the morning dew,
Reconciling the world with the divine, in an eternal embrace of the soul with those dreamt realms.
Thus, the human race, on a clear white day, when all symbols will take word and shape,
Will cross the threshold between worlds, with meaningful and dancing steps,
Freeing themselves from the heavy velvets of the unfathomable in a moment of self-discovery,
Rebirth from the ashes of time, understanding paved with the sparkling diamonds of knowledge.
In that magic and melancholic moment, when the veil will fall and eyes will see,
Every pixel of life will gain intensity and color, redefining our eternity,
We, a certain small number of souls who wander through grasses misunderstood,
Will be the counselors of the coming days, the keepers of the flame in the temple of relearning divinity.
My father dearest,
You did not lose your little girl.
Here I stand,
shaped by your wrinkled hands,
still settling in silken silence
where your velvet voice once lived.
Come, if distance deign to yield
and take again this hallowed hand of mine.
Tell mom to sing again that lilac lullaby
she used to sing as she laid me
in the hammock you once built for me
listen to the susurrus of
of a child's whisper who never went away.
Oh how I deeply long to press my cheeks
upon those weathered hands of yours,
that though worn by labour lost their sheen,
still teaching me what a joy it is to give;
Those hands that love to meet the quill,
and never failed to write fine verses,
sonnets, limericks, ghazals and many more.
How I love to see thy hair in silver strands
that speak the wisdom you truly own
How I adore those wrinkled forehead
that exudes a shining light ~
a torch guiding my way back home.
Here in anamnesis, I return
to that farmhouse you once dreamt for me
where water wanders and wafts in surreal haze
where mango trees bear fruits in abundant grace
I dwell there still,
enfolded in chrysalism's quiet corner.
On Fathers' Day I'll bring you rouge roses tenderly
with sillage that lingers in your favourite settee
And if June has grace to grant me one last plea,
I'd go back to our home and spend my days with thee.